


More of a Statement Than a Question

by OutTheWazoo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Male Sneezing, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutTheWazoo/pseuds/OutTheWazoo
Summary: Aziraphale catches a winter cold, and maybe catches a bit more than that from Crowley, who has liked his sneezes for 6,000 years.





	More of a Statement Than a Question

Crowley drove to Aziraphale’s bookshop to ask him out to lunch. As expected, when he came inside, he heard Aziraphale’s little nervous squeak and the “We’re closed! Come back later!” that followed any entrances. Every time, Crowley would find him in the back of the shop, drinking a mug of cocoa or a cup of tea and reading a book, maybe having a snack or two (or three).

This time, though, something was different. His voice sounded a bit hoarser and deeper. Crowley knew his angel’s voice like the back of his hand, and this was not Aziraphale’s normal voice. Crowley’s stomach pinched a bit at what he realized it might be. His mouth went dry with nerves and anticipation. He never knew exactly how to act in such situations. He was going to barge right in and scoop him up, but he felt all of his usual confidence fade with the change in Aziraphale’s voice. He took off his sleek, black leather coat and hung it up on the coat rack. On the inside, it was fluffy, a thing Aziraphale said was ‘so him.’ Crowley told him to shut up.

It was growing cold outside, so Crowley knew this was just the time of year for his angel to catch something. He always did. He lived in one of the busiest parts of the city and mortals kept poking their dumb stupid faces into his shop, looking for their porn, and spreading their germs.*

(*Angels and demons both do, in fact, fall ill. It would just require a great presence of germs. Given that Aziraphale uses ancient cleaning methods, gets a lot of visitors with strange germs, and stays most of his time inside his shop, this happens a lot more to him than other angels.)

Obviously, he didn’t want his only love in his entire 6,000-year existence to fall ill, which is why he despised the grubby little cold-sharers of Soho, but there was something about Aziraphale’s sneeze that made his reptilian belly go all warm inside and his head go all fuzzy. He couldn’t explain it. He knew you weren’t usually supposed to enjoy sneezing. Sneezing was, well, sneezing, and Crowley despised it when anyone else did it. When he saw a stranger or another demon do it, his scales would start to crawl. But when his dearest Angel did it, Crowley was a goner. Besides, Crowley had only ever had eyes for his Angel, so it wouldn’t matter about how he felt about some stranger’s sneeze. The first storm ever had given Aziraphale the worst case of sneezes, and Crowley had known then that maybe something was wrong with him. If anyone except for Aziraphale were to ask about Crowley’s own sneeze, Crowley would get hissy and overly emotional with embarrassment. 

There his Angel was, still using a tartan handkerchief after all this time. He was nuzzling his nose into it. Crowley blushed at the sight. He had gotten so good at sneaking that Aziraphale didn’t notice him approach. Aziraphale was so trusting of people that he hadn’t even listened closely for the door closing on the presumed trespasser's exit. 

Crowley stood behind his Angel, peeking at the book on his lap. He didn’t recognize the text, but Crowley was never one for reading for “pleasure,” (whatever pleasure his Angel got out of it was lost on him). Then, Crowley’s tummy did a flip. He saw Aziraphale’s rounded shoulders rise with the effort of what Crowley understood to be a hitch* (*don’t judge him, okay? He had looked this stuff up during one of Aziraphale’s bouts of hayfever. He had discovered that he liked something a miniscule percentage of very strange mortals liked as well). Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. Crowley watched, transfixed.

“Heh’kiew! Het’chiew! Huh-huh… hek’tshew! Excuse me,” Aziraphale said even though he thought he was alone. They had been more airy than Crowley thought. Usually Aziraphale’s cold sneezes were more stuffy and productive than that. Perhaps his Angel was just at the early itch-in-the-nose stage of his cold. 

Crowley couldn’t resist. He snuck a kiss onto Aziraphale’s cheek. 

Aziraphale jumped, thoroughly startled by the sudden contact. He had actually thought he was alone, the sweet thing. “Oh, Crowley,” he said, indignant at being shocked like that, but not at all upset at Crowley for deciding to pop in even if for just a second. Nursing his cold alone had been quite unpleasant, even if he didn’t want to admit it out of fear for contaminating Crowley. 

Crowley ran the back of his hand ‘casually’ against Aziraphale’s cheek, checking for fever. Yep, the angel burned like Heaven. He let out a soft ‘tsk’ before stating the purpose of his visit. “I was in the area, thought you might want to go for crepes and possibly a sandwich. It’s getting a bit cold, so maybe one of those peppermint mochas you like?”

Even this offer could not cheer Aziraphale up. He shook his head, rubbing his nose with his hankie. Crowley’s belly burned, and so did his head. His feet felt all tingly. “Sorry, Crowley,” he said, baby blue eyes full of genuine sadness. This was the first time he had met Crowley’s eyes, and the demon could make out that the tip of his gentle, slightly upturned nose was red. The whole nose and cheeks on the angel were a light pink, but the tip of it was an irritated red. Crowley bit his lip, grateful his glasses obscured his eyes, which were probably all pupil at that point. 

“Why are you sorry,” Crowley said quietly, studying the patterns in the floorboards. He toed at an upturned splinter. His sentence was phrased like more of a statement than a question. 

Aziraphale looked down at his feet. “You know me better than anyone, Crowley,” he said. “I’d assume you’d know I was sick the second you saw me.” He rubbed his nose gently.

“Yes,” said The Snake. “Heard you actually.” He cleared his throat, speaking before Aziraphale could ask or say anything else about it. “So you don’t want to go out for food.” Another statement.

“Can’t without sneezing on anyone,” Aziraphale said. “Even if I could stand and walk properly without getting dizzy or tired, I wouldn’t want to spread it.”

That was his Angel. Always considerate, even when in his most hot- Crowley meant vulnerable- state. There was a beat. Crowley wanted desperately to stay. He decided to shoot straight for it. “Can I stay, then?” An actual question this time. 

Aziraphale mulled it over in his head. “I suppose that’s alright,” he decided. “But you are staying at your own risk. I don’t want to hear any whinging from you if you catch this chill.”

Crowley flicked his tongue. He shook his head. “Not going to whinge.” His voice went all quiet; “Probably drink it away though.” He didn’t even try to deny that he would catch it. He was going to be far too close to Aziraphale for far too long.

Equipped with angelic hearing, Aziraphale whipped around to wag a finger at his lover. “If I catch you doing that, Anthony Crowley, I swear to… Well…” He was thinking of a thing to swear to, but his fevered mind wasn’t moving quickly enough to be as snappy as he needed to be. 

Crowley tapped his foot. “Well, if you go all mushy on me when I’m sick, I might have to go drink.” The corners of his mouth drew up in the tease of a smile.

Aziraphale glared the way only an Angel could glare. “I am not mushy,” he tried to insist in a harsh tone, undercut by his hoarseness. The congestion hadn’t set in properly yet, so ‘not’ came out instead of ‘dnot,’ which would’ve made Crowley need to take a breather. Saying that ‘not’ made Aziraphale cough, though. He raised his arms above his head, chubby fingers curled into fists, and coughed freely.

Crowley full-on smirked, glad it wasn’t a sneeze so he could still be a smartass. He couldn’t talk about sneezing like he could about coughing. He didn’t have any particular ties to coughing besides what it was usually coupled with. “Well, I’m definitely going to catch it now.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, only now realizing what he had done. Crowley was teasing, but Aziraphale was self-conscious nonetheless. “I’m sorry, Dearest,” he apologized from the heart.

Crowley grinned. “I will only accept apologies in the form of angel lap cuddles.” He lowered himself onto Aziraphale’s lap, squeezing his meaty thigh and getting a congested yelp in return.

“You stop that,” Aziraphale cried, rubbing his eye. “I’m not well enough to-”

Crowley grabbed the back of the angel’s head and kissed him. The warmth of Aziraphale’s lips from his fever made the demon squirm a bit. He didn’t even notice until later their dry and peeling quality because he was far too infatuated with the way the angel was when sick.

Aziraphale pushed as hard as he could with his depleted strength on Crowley’s chest, breaking the kiss. “You stop that immediately,” he chastised him. “Are you mad, dear boy.” Phrased like a statement just like Crowley’s earlier ‘questions.’ “You always get like this. I almost think you want to be sick.”

Poor, innocent Aziraphale, thought Crowley. He has no idea. He probably doesn’t even know what kinks are. Still, he must be onto me somehow. “I don’t, I just love you.”

“Didn’t you kiss me enough when I invited you over for tea?” Aziraphale asked, incredibly frustrated by his demon. He couldn’t figure him out sometimes- especially why he wanted to kiss him when he was ill.

Crowley huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “That was a whole week ago, Angel! You know I miss you and your...” He gestured at the angel’s whole body.

Aziraphale put his hands on his hips. “Surely you can last some time with me without only thinking of kissing me.” To Crowley, the way he looked when he delivered this line was ‘absolutely kissable.’ His nose gleamed cherry red and his eyes had this delicate wet, freshly-cried look to them. His nose was chapped and the line of redness trailed down his philtrum and just barely stopped above his lips, which were pale along the edges but shone pink in the center. He had that delicate paleness going on that made Crowley squirm in place.

Crowley shook his head, managing a shaky grin. He wanted to sound more innocent about the whole ‘liking sneezing’ ordeal. “How can I not when your lips are so plump and juicy?”

“Well, right now they are chapped and dry,” Aziraphale protested, crossing his arms. 

“Ah, I can fix that,” Crowley said, going for Aziraphale’s desk drawer. “Seriously, Angel, you forgot about the lip balm I gave you?”

“Not forgot,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Just too weak to leave the couch and get it.” He gave a feverish shiver as if to emphasize this point.

“You need a proper bed,” Crowley said for the umpteenth time. It was like a routine at this point. They had a similar conversation every time Aziraphale told Crowley to stock his fridge with more than wine.

“It’s so expensive, and it takes up a lot of space. And I would never use it,” Aziraphale said for the umpteenth time.

“You realize our vessels need sleep to heal, right?” Crowley asked. He was done with trying to convince Aziraphale to miracle up the money; he barely ever did such a thing unless it was concerned with Crowley and even then he was hesitant. The angel just went around too much being made to feel guilty by his superiors. Crowley huffed, deciding on what he needed to do. “That’s it, you are going to my place and I am tucking you into bed.”  
Aziraphale tried to say something about not wanting to bring his germs to Crowley’s flat, but a slim finger was fast approaching his lips with a dab of strawberry lip balm. Crowley had been sweet enough to listen to Aziraphale whinge about how his lips were always dry and actually did something about it. He bought Aziraphale a coconut oil lip scrub, a pot of strawberry lip balm, and a lip oil that Brian ate in entirety when visiting the bookshop. Crowley had insisted it was all organic so it was fine, but he was a bit annoyed that his gift hadn’t been used by the one he had intended it for. 

He gingerly smoothed the lip balm over Aziraphale’s lips, ‘tsk’ing at the buildup of dead skin cells he could feel. He had tried to teach the angel about the benefits of proper skincare, but Aziraphale never actually listened. He was certain that Aziraphale even missed the trends he liked now at the era of their height in popularity. “There we go,” he said softly once the angel’s lips were properly moisturized. He looked at the angel’s clothing and gave a huff. “You are still dressed like you are completely well, Angel.”

Aziraphale looked down at his outfit and gave a nod. “Suppose I have to keep up appearances.”

Crowley went through Aziraphale’s wardrobe and selected the least offensive pajamas the angel had. He tried to tell him that he dressed atrociously, but Aziraphale ignored this and kept dressing however he pleased. “Let’s get these on you before we go.”

Aziraphale gave a soft sigh. His fingers were too sore and shaky with fever to undo even the first button on his vest.

“Oh, let me, Angel,” Crowley said, fake-exasperatedly. He blushed as he realized this was as close to intimacy Aziraphale would allow him in his ill state. He gingerly slid Aziraphale’s homely argyle vest off of his torso. He then started to undo the buttons on the button-down shirt underneath.

Aziraphale blushed. Crowley was being… so sensual with it. Usually Crowley nearly ripped Aziraphale’s clothes off (and in two). But when Aziraphale was sick, Crowley had a silk touch. He then realized he had to sneeze. His nose tickled so badly. “O-Oh dear,” Aziraphale said breathily.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s well-manicured hands and held them tightly so the angel in his weakened state couldn’t use them to cover. The angel wasn’t current on hygiene standards and would often use them as a replacement handkerchief. 

“C-Crow… C…” Crowley looked up, studying his angel’s beautiful face. Aziraphale’s slender nostrils were flaring with great urgency, and his newly-softened lips began to part. He wiggled his nose, making a great feeling of warmth pool over Crowley’s body. “P-Pl…”

“Just go ahead and do it,” Crowley whispered. “It’s just me, your husband.” He didn’t invoke their marriage status often, so Aziraphale realized this must be something he really wanted.* (*For a Very Silly Reason poor naive Aziraphale couldn’t parse at the moment.)  
“Het’SHhhh!” Aziraphale sneezed urgently, raining spray down on Crowley, who shuddered with pleasure. “Heh’kshhhh-heh’ksshhh-heh’KSHhhh! Heh’TSH! Heh’TSHHHuhh! Heh’KTSHHew!” Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s fingers tense with each sneeze, and he clutched the back of Crowley’s hands gently with his thumbs. His nose wiggled between each sneeze. His eyebrows knitted together with each exhale and he took a soft gasp between, as if giving each sneeze the attention it needed.

Crowley panted. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, now you’ve gone and made me sneeze on you. You’re going to get ill just like me, Crowley.” He sniffled softly.

“Hush,” Crowley said, positioning himself in Aziraphale’s lap. He got one of Aziraphale’s kitschy lace hankies and held it over his nose. The angel blew weakly.

“And I’m sitting here with my shirt wide open,” Aziraphale fussed. 

Crowley gave Aziraphale’s belly a gentle kiss before sliding his shirt off. He gently unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down Aziraphale’s pants so he was sitting there in his underwear.

“I feel quite silly,” said Aziraphale. He crossed his arms.

“Relaxsssss,” Crowley hissed in a manner he hoped was soothing, putting the flannel pajamas around Aziraphale’s back before helping him slide his arms through. This time he kissed his soft, round chest before buttoning it back up. He helped him get the pajama bottoms on too, and for a bit of levity, he put the nightcap on Aziraphale’s head.

“You teased me for wearing this last time.”

Crowley smirked. “And you still look silly for wearing it, but I like that about you, ‘Zira. You purchase and keep the most outdated things, constantly living in the past. But that is exactly how I like you.” He got bold and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s nose.

“Heh’chmmm!” Aziraphale sneezed against his fist. Crowley bit his lip, deeply turned on by the fact that he could bring his angel to sneeze just by a simple kiss on the nose.

Crowley packed one of Aziraphale’s vintage leather bags for the overnight stay, making sure everything was in there. He then grabbed a tartan blanket and wrapped it around his angel, scooping him up bridal style.

“What if someone should see?”

“It’s Soho, Angel. Also, it’s 2019,” Crowley pointed out.

“No, I mean… My pajamas.” Aziraphale examined himself in his hand-mirror.

“You are much too fussy,” Crowley said before picking up the overnight bag and carrying Aziraphale to the Bentley. He got him all comfortable in the passenger seat and kissed his Angel’s warm forehead, just above his eyebrow.  
He started to do 90 on the way back to the flat. Then, Aziraphale asked a question that nearly made Crowley wreck into a parked car. “Why did you make me sneeze, Crowley?”

Crowley chuckled nervously. He paused for a moment before coming up with something to bide his time. “I will exssplain after you’ve had a nap.” He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to do so, even then.


End file.
